


let me go in your stead

by conchorde



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Mark needs a hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, the am is The Actual Worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 19:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15669765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conchorde/pseuds/conchorde
Summary: “Joanie, I can’t find Sam.”[Or; in which Sam goes missing and Mark takes matters into his own hands.]





	let me go in your stead

**Author's Note:**

> So! I started listening to the Bright Sessions last week and Mark is One Sad Man whom I love. I apparently needed a fic exploring Mark's PTSD and how it affects his actions. Be the change you wish to see in the world and all that.

_In the darkness, there was a steady beeping. High pitched. Not so loud that it was earsplitting, but it was persistent. Flicking on every three seconds._

_Mark knew. Mark had counted._

_Then, the darkness was flooded with a sudden violent, fluorescent light. Only a spotlight in what Mark somehow knew was a huge, cavernous room. He couldn’t see where it ended or where it began, but that beeping persisted._

_He knew he needed to get away from it. When he went to lift his legs, to move somewhere, to do something, he was frozen._

_Mark couldn’t move._

_Suddenly, his wrists and his ankles were bound. He was forced horizontal as the thin bands encircled his extremities, tying him to a hospital-like bed with a thin mattress._

_And always, always, that steady beeping._

_An IV dripped into his arm, leading out into the darkness. Out into the darkness and that steady beeping and—what was that? A new sound. A humming. Soft, underneath it all, but growing ever louder._

_The circle of fluorescent light expanded, and all Mark could see were those machines. Metallic and misshapen, reaching for him with needles and hands that Mark knew would cause him pain, would give him headaches and break his ribs and make him do things he didn’t want to do._

_The machines reached out, and stabbed an IV in another vein, tethering him against his will. They stretched out their metallic fingers and he tried to get away but they stabbed him with another IV and another and the humming grew louder and louder and Mark couldn’t breathe and—_

“Morning sleepyhead!”

His heartbeat raced in his ears. His eyes snapped open.

 _Not in the AM anymore,_ he told himself, struggling to control his breaths. _Not anymore. You’re safe. You’re at Sam’s. You’re safe._

Mark rolled over, twisting the sheets around him, taking in the room, trying to forget. Soft light streamed in through the bay window. Sam’s books lined her walls, stacked too high on her bookshelves. Her laptop and headphones were lost on her desk in the corner underneath a pile of paper.

Right. Mark was safe.

“Mark?” Sam stood in the doorway of her bedroom. She held two mugs and worry tinged her voice. Worry always tinged her voice.

What a pair they were: Anxiety Girl and Repressed Trauma Boy.

Mark ran a hand over his face, trying to shake the memories of the nightmare. “Morning,” he said groggily, making to get out of bed. “How long have you been up?”

“Not long. Maybe since seven? I was going to make coffee—want some?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.”

Sam smiled. “What’s that saying? _Mi casa es su casa_.”

“I think you mean _mi coffee es su coffee_ ,” Mark said, sliding out of bed to follow Sam into her spacious kitchen. “But I’ll take whatever.”

She set the two mugs down on the counter and switched on the coffee maker. “Sleep well? You seemed…out longer than usual.”

He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure your bed is more comfortable than mine over at Joanie’s.” _And more comfortable than mine at the AM._

Sam grabbed the coffee grounds from the cupboard above the maker. “Shoot,” she said, shaking the bag a little before she peered inside.

“What?”

She glanced up at him. “I definitely don’t have enough coffee for the both of us. I usually try to get more before you come since I know you drink coffee in the morning but—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Mark said, reaching across Sam’s counter for his jacket. “I can go get some more. What brand do you get, again?”

“No, no, I’ll go,” Sam said in a hurry, running a hand through her hair. “I was feeling something a little more exciting than just drip coffee anyway. Maybe an espresso or tea? I’ll go over to that coffee shop down the road and grab something.”

 “You sure?” Mark asked, and Sam nodded. “I’m good with a black coffee. Or anything with foam.”

“Okay! I’ll be back soon,” she said, leaning over and kissing Mark on the temple. “Maybe you can make muffins? I have a mix in the pantry.”

“You trust me with the stove? I might burn down the house in your absence.”

Sam headed over to the door, pulling on a big sweater from her closet. “If anyone’s going to burn down my house, it’ll be me. I think I’ve used the oven like three times ever.”

“I expect maximum foam!” Mark called out after her.

“We’ll see what I can get, Mark!” Sam laughed, hand on the doorknob. “Just don’t burn down my house!”

Sam closed the door behind her and smiling, Mark went to find the muffin mix.

* * *

 Joan’s phone was ringing.

“Sarah, can you take this?” she called to the reception. She had a patient coming into her office in a few minutes and she preferred to use that time to go over her notes. Caleb had been rather tense at their last session, and she had a new meditation exercise she thought might help with his stress.

“Sorry, Dr. Bright,” Sarah replied from the front of her office. “He was rather insistent that she speak with you directly.”

Joan fought the urge to roll her eyes, but picked up the call. “Dr. Bright’s office, this is she.”

“Hello, Joan,” said the voice on the line.

Joan’s heart dropped. “Agent Green.”

“It’s a pleasure to speak with you, as always, Joan.”

“Why are you calling, Green? I checked in with you last week,” Joan replied tersely.

“I thought you might want to hear my voice,” Green protested.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Joan shot back. “Why are you calling? I have a patient coming into my office in a few minutes, so make it quick.”

“I thought we had a connection, Dr. Bright.”

Joan said nothing, but her grip on her phone increased. White-knuckled.

“Fine,” Green said, his voice tinged with annoyance. “I’m just giving you a call to let you know about an exciting new breakthrough we have made here at the AM.”

“Why—why should I care, Agent Green? You know I don’t work there anymore.”

“Well, this is a _very_ exciting breakthrough, Dr. Bright,” Green insisted.

Joan sighed. “Get to the point, Green.”

“We have developed a new serum for those atypicals that can transmit their consciousness and selves through time and space. We think it will be able to enhance these abilities tenfold.”

For a moment, Joan stared across the room but saw nothing. Her mind spun. “What are you implying, Owen.”

It was not a question.

Agent Green chuckled on the other end of the phone. “It’s been a while since you’ve called me that, Dr. Bright.”

“What are you implying?” Joan repeated.

“I just thought you might want to know about this new breakthrough, Dr. Bright! Although I know your feelings about the AM, you know we are doing very important, cutting-edge research.”

“Green—”

“Didn’t you say you have a patient coming in, Dr. Bright? You should probably see to him. Have a good afternoon,” Green said shortly, and the line went dead.

Numbly, Joan set down the phone. A new serum wasn’t a breakthrough of any note—the AM developed medications of varying success almost daily. But…a serum targeting atypicials that could time travel?

She was reaching for her cell from behind her desk—Sam would want to know—when her office door burst open.

Joan jumped, not having turned around just yet. “Caleb, you’re ear—”

“Joanie, I think something’s happened.”

Joan whirled around. “Mark! What are you—?”

“Joanie, I can’t find Sam.”

She froze. “Wh—what?”

Mark sat down in the chair opposite Joan, running a hand anxiously through his long hair. “I’ve been looking for her for hours, Joanie, and she won’t answer her phone and she wasn’t at the café and—”

“Mark, slow down,” Joan said, moving over to sit next to him. “Tell me what happened.”

He took a breath. His eyes were rimmed with red; his hands were shaking with those same minute tremors as they had in the month following Damien’s kidnapping. After the AM. That was how she thought of time with Mark, now, wasn’t it? Before the AM, and after.

Joan gingerly laid her hand on his and he grabbed it like it was a lifeline. “Sam went out to get coffee for us down the street this morning because she was out of her regular kind. I offered to go, but she insisted she go herself. _Fuck_ , Joanie, I should have got the coffee because now she’s _gone_. What do I do, Joanie? _Fuck_ , what do I do?”

Joan tried her best not to put on her _therapist voice_ , as Mark called it. “You said you tried to call her?”

“Yeah, Joanie, I tried, but she wouldn’t pick up and now the calls aren’t even going through. I think her phone is dead or something. And when she didn’t pick up I went to the coffee shop down the street I thought she was going to, and she wasn’t there. I checked every café in a ten block radius, Joanie.”

She paused for a moment before continuing, phrasing her question gently. “And you didn’t…give her any reason to want to leave?”

Mark looked at Joan sharply. “Fuck, Joanie. How could you ask me that? No. I love her. I would never hurt Sam. You know that.”

Joan exhaled shakily. “I know, Mark. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No, you’re right,” he said bitterly, returning his gaze to the floor “Mr. Repressed Trauma, ready to fly off the handle at any moment. Wind him up and watch him go, right?”

“Mark, I didn’t mean—”

The door to Joan’s office swung open again and Joan cut herself off abruptly.

“Dr. Bright, sorry I’m late—” began her next patient, swinging his backpack off his shoulder. “Whoa. Mark’s here. There’s a lot going on. I think—I think I need to sit down.”

“Caleb!” Joan stood quickly, taking his elbow and leading him to a chair. “I’m sorry, this isn’t a good time. I’m sorry to do this to you, but do you think we could—”

“Why are you shocked? And Mark’s—wow, I don’t think I’ve ever felt him so scared. Ever.”

“Wow, thanks,” Mark bit off. Joan shot a glance back at him, and he quieted, but not without a glare.

“Caleb, I’m sorry. I don’t think this is a good time,” said Joan.

“No,” Caleb said, breathing deeply through his nose. “I think I have it under control. What’s going on?”

“It’s really none of your concern, Caleb,” Joan began.

The door swung open a third time. “Oh, my god,” said Chloe, practically running into the room. “It just got really loud and I’m sorry to burst in here since I was just here to drop off Caleb at his session but _oh, my god!_ ”

“Chloe!” Joan exclaimed. “You cannot come into my office like—”

“They have Sam?” Chloe blurted, looking at Mark. “Oh, my god, you don’t know. You think they have her. Oh, my god. _Sam_.”

“Hey, Chloe,” Mark said, staring at his shaking hands.

“Would _someone_ fucking clue me into what’s going on here!” Caleb all but yelled. “Because Chloe is _freaked_ and Dr. Bright is freaking me out and Mark is just really, really sad and anxious and I’m getting _really_ on edge.”

“Caleb,” Joan said. “I’m sorry to scare you like this, but it really isn’t your concern.”

“What?” Chloe exclaimed. “Of course it is! Sam is missing and you think the AM took her because that Agent Green called out of the blue and you don’t want to tell him?”

“Joanie,” Mark said—and the way he looked at her all but broke Joan’s heart—at the same time Caleb asked, “Dr. Bright, is Sam missing?”

Joan sighed. “Yes. Mark came in a few minutes ago and told me he can’t find Sam. She went to go get coffee this morning for Mark and her, but never came back. She’s not answering her phone and Mark said he looked for her in several cafés.”

“Oh, my god,” Caleb said, his voice dropping. “It’s three o’clock. She’s been gone for hours.”

“Joanie, what did Chloe mean, Agent Green called?” Mark asked, even though she knew he could hear her thoughts.

She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Agent Green called me shortly before you came in, Mark. It isn’t our normal week to speak, so it seemed out of the blue. He said the AM had developed a new enhancing serum for atypicals that can travel through time.”

Mark stood, agitated. “The AM has Sam. _Fuck._ ”

Joan reached out to him, but he walked away. “We don’t know that, Mark.”

“Yes, we do! Why else would Green call you? The AM has Sam and she’s probably being fucking experimented on right now. _Shit_.”

“Hey, hey,” Joan began. “It’s okay.”

“How the _fuck_ is it okay?” Mark burst out. “It’s not fucking okay, Joanie. Sam is gone.”

“Of course it’s not okay, Mark. I didn’t mean—”

Chloe walked over. “She just meant to say to not do anything we’ll regret.”

Mark looked at her wordlessly. _God, he looked bad_ , Joan thought. Besides the tremor in his hands and the red rimming his eyes, he looked like he hadn’t had a nightmare-less night in the past two months and that he’d drank far more than he’d eaten in about the same amount of time.

“Thanks, Joanie,” Mark said hoarsely. “Good to know I look how I feel.”

“Mark—”

“No, don’t apologize for your thoughts. You meant them. Can’t lie inside your own head, right?”

A heavy silence settled in around the four for a moment.

Caleb glanced at Joan. “Should we file a police report? That’s usually the sort of thing you do after someone goes missing, right?”

“That’s not a bad idea, Caleb,” Chloe chimed in. “That might be able to help us find Sam. She’s been missing for what…ten hours? Maybe she just got lost.”

Mark laughed without humor. “Bullshit. The last time one of us went missing, the police weren’t exactly a great help.”

“ _Mark_.”

“It’s true, Joanie! When the AM took me, you didn’t even know where to look and god knew our parents weren’t going to be of any help. Filing a police report? Ha. They did _nothing_ to find me and I was trapped in that hellhole for _four years_.”

“It could still be a good idea!” Caleb protested, getting angry, his anger being kindled by Mark’s deep, raw rage.

“It won’t fucking _do_ anything,” Mark shot back.

“How about this,” Chloe began. “If she got lost on her way or took a long trip or something, maybe she’ll turn up tonight. But if she…doesn’t, tomorrow we can go file a police report and put up some posters around town.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea, Chloe,” Joan said. “I didn’t even think Sam could have taken an extra-long trip.”

“And then we work together to find her!” Caleb interjected.

“No, Caleb,” said Joan. “You’re already involved enough. Plus, it’s a school night.”

“Like it being a school night matters, Dr. Bright,” said Chloe. “One of our friends is missing!”

Caleb crossed his arms. “I’m going to help, Dr. Bright. Whether you like it or not.”

“I suppose I can’t stop you,” sighed Joan, resigned to involving yet another of her patients with the AM. “But Sam could turn up tonight—sometimes her trips can take a little longer than usual.”

“That’s not how it fucking works and you know it, Joanie,” said Mark. “You’re thinking it. You know her trips usually put her back at most minutes after she leaves.”

Joan swallowed hard, turning to look her brother in the eye. “Well that may be true, we don’t know for sure how Sam’s abilities can change.”

“Dr. Bright,” began Chloe, but Joan’s office phone rang, startling all of them. They blankly stared at the white corded phone sitting on her desk.

It rang again. Mark reached for it.

“Mark,” hissed Joan, trying to grab it out of his hand.

“It could be Sam,” Mark said, pulling the phone out of reach. “It’s not like any of us are trying to call her right now,” he said, and put the phone to his ear. “Dr. Bright’s office.”

Joan watched her brother’s face pale. He reached out for the desk to steady himself and Joan felt a spike of fear.

“Dr. Bright,” said Caleb. “Are you all right? You got all—”

“You,” said Mark shortly, trying to control the tremor in his voice.

Joan felt the hair rise on her arms, listening to the dread in Mark’s voice. She felt Caleb grab her shoulder, heard Chloe’s intake of breath, but Joan couldn’t focus on anything but her brother’s face. He was so pale.

Joan knew he knew the voice on the other end of the line. It was a voice he was familiar with in the intimate way you become familiar with someone’s voice the longer you know them, the more interactions you have with them. The way you recognize the cadence of someone’s voice; the way it drops on certain words and rises on others. The way you associate the sound of someone’s voice with certain memories.

In watching Mark’s face as he took the call, she knew he had no pleasant memories with this voice.

“Wadsworth,” said Chloe quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s Wadsworth.”

Joan saw Mark’s fingers clench around the phone. “What the _fuck_ are you doing to her?”

“Mark, let me take this call,” Joan said, holding out a hand for the phone.

After a moment, the pair of them frozen like a Renaissance painting—Joan with a hand outstretched, Mark staring unseeing into Joan’s office—Mark set down the phone. He dropped it, almost, into the receiver as he hung up. “No. _No_. _Fuck_.” His hands flew to his temples; his lean fingers grabbed his hair roughly, trying to ground himself.

“Mark,” said Joan, trying to take Mark’s hand, trying to embrace him, trying to do _something_. He turned away sharply, turning his back on his sister and _god_ didn’t that hurt?

Behind Joan, Chloe gasped. “Mark! No. No way. You can’t!”

Mark began to pace in jittery, uneven movements. “They have her, Joanie. That _woman_ just said it. They’re experimenting on her with whatever the fuck that goddamn serum is. _Fuck_.”

“What?” Caleb asked sharply, the same anger tinging his voice as Mark’s. “The AM actually has her?”

Chloe stepped forward. “Mark, you _cannot_ go after her.”

“What?” Joan repeated after Caleb, staring at her brother in horror.

Mark whirled around to face the three. He ran a hand unevenly through his hair, across his face. Wiped away the tears Joan knew threatened to fall. “Wadsworth said that they’re experimenting on Sam and I just—”

His voice shattered, but Chloe continued speaking in his stead. “Mark was saying that the AM is moving onto atypical trials for the time traveler serum. But Wadsworth said—” Chloe faltered, disgust tinging her voice. “Wadsworth said trials would stop if they came across _something more valuable_ ,” she finished quietly, staring hard at Mark. Chloe’s moral outrage at the injustice of it all shone in her bright eyes. “You—you are not a thing! You’re a person!”

“Not in her view,” said Mark bitterly. “I’m just a _thing_ to be experimented on.”

“Is that how they view us?” Caleb asked, that same fear Joan felt deep in her core flickering through his words. “As…things?”

Joan twisted her hands. “Ellie’s view of the world has always been warped by her desire to further scientific research.”

“Warped?” Mark shot back. “That’s one way to put it.”

“But you _can’t go_!” Chloe pleaded. “No way. That would be just…stupid. Even if it _is_ Sam.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Mark said desperately, resuming his pacing once more. “She all but said that she’d let Sam go if I went back.”

“Mark,” said Joan. “We don’t even know for sure that Sam is there. For all we know she’s on a trip to Ancient Greece. Or somewhere completely not atypical related. She could be perfectly safe.”

Mark was hoarse. “Think about it for a second, Joanie. Where else would she be? If she’s not… _there_ , then where the hell else would she be? It’s a really big fucking coincidence that the AM just happened to be doing experiments on time travelers at the same time Sam went missing. A _really_ big fucking coincidence.”

“Coincidence that it may be, it would be a poor decision to just go walking back in there, Mark! You can’t just go back. Just think of what they did to you. What that did to us. You _can’t_.”

Mark glared at her. “Yeah? Don’t think I forgot what they did. I was the one that was there for four years. I know what the fuck they’re capable of.”

“Mark, please,” Joan pleaded as Mark walked past her, towards the door.

“We can file a police report tomorrow and put up posters tonight,” Chloe said, trying to mediate the situation. “Don’t just walk into their hands.”

Caleb interjected, “Mark, you’re really freaking out right now.”

Mark had his hand on the doorknob. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing, all right? Not if I can stop it.”

“Mark,” Joan said, her voice breaking so like her brother’s had moments before. “Mark, please!”

Mark looked over his shoulder. “See you on the other side, Joanie.”

“ _Mark!_ ”

The door closed behind him, leaving silence in his wake.

Joan’s hands were shaking. She heard Sarah’s exclamation of Mark walking past, heard the front door to her office-building slam closed, heard Mark’s car start. Heard him drive away.

Heard herself lose her brother once more.

“Dr. Bright—” Caleb began, at the same time Chloe said, “We need to go after—”

Joan cut them both off, sitting down on her couch heavily. “I’m sorry, I think we’re going to have to reschedule our appointment today, Caleb.”

“I—of course, Dr. Bright,” Caleb said gently, sitting down next to her. “We’re going to go after him, right?”

“What? I can’t involve you two in this.”

“We’re already involved, Dr. Bright,” said Chloe, reaching out a hand to rest on Joan’s shoulder. “What do you need us to do?”

* * *

The radio was off. Mark never had the radio off. He preferred to drown out his thoughts with whatever pop song was topping the airwaves, but when he got in the car, he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe because _they had Sam._

So all he heard was the quiet crunch of the gravel underneath the balding car tires and that incessant beeping of his dreams he swore got louder with every mile.

(Mark knew, logically, that the beeping of those fucking machines was all in his head but _goddamn_ if it didn’t sound real.)

Mark’s hands clenched the steering wheel as he made the last turn.

A quaint sign to his left greeted him, reading _Atypical Monitors_ superimposed on flat wood. An imposing metal gate fenced off the entrance, complete with a window to speak to a guard. The tall stucco walls surrounding the facility continued off into the trees, blocking off the view to the public, but Mark could swear he could glimpse those metallic buildings through the gate.

Mark found quite suddenly that the beeping in his ears was beginning to flatline and he couldn’t breathe and—

Fat knuckles rapped on his car window. “Sir?” asked a deep voice, muted by the door. Mark started, turning abruptly. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Mark took a deep breath and rolled down his window. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sir,” said the guard, sounding like he would _really_ rather to be anywhere else but his shift wasn’t up for another four hours. “Sir, I’m sorry, but this facility is off-limits for visitors. You can visit us at our off-site facility, and we’d be more than happy to show you around, but you cannot come—”

“Tell Wadsworth I’m here,” Mark shot back, trying to keep his voice from rising but failing bitterly. “Or Agent Green. Whoever. I don’t fucking care.”

“Sir—”

Mark set his jaw because _he was not shaking. He was not._ “I’m not leaving, buddy.”

The guard sighed, but stepped out of earshot to radio up into the facility for a moment before returning. “Pull through there, sir,” said the guard, sounding surprised but mostly bored out of his mind. The gate began to open. “A guard will be there to lead you through—”

Mark didn’t stick around to hear whatever the rest of the AM goon had to say, and pulled numbly ahead. He was pretty sure he had stopped feeling back at the entrance, when the machines perpetually beeping in his ears flatlined. He drove through into a parking lot, those imposing, windowless buildings rising before him and _god_ he wished he were anywhere else. Mechanically, he turned his car off. Grabbed that _thing_ he had purchased against his better judgement the moment he was free of Damien and shoved it in his waistband.

Mark stepped out of his car and walked willingly back into the AM.

Two guards met him at the front door. A regular thing, that door, he thought distantly as he passed through it. _Huh_. _Seemed more terrifying five months ago, now didn’t it?_ But he was sure he was flatlining. The world seemed a little off. A little tilted. _The hallways hadn’t been that crooked the last time, had they?_

Mark noted distantly the guards brought him directly up the main elevator to the floor of offices. No metal detectors, no handcuffs, no needles.

The tall man to his left knocked on a steel door. “Sir? This man demanded to come see you.”

The door swung open, and Mark got a good view of all five feet eleven inches of Owen Green, looking extraordinary displeased. He looked down his nose to the guard that had knocked. “I’m in a private meeting. What did I tell you about interrupting me in my meetings?”

The guard stuttered. “I’m sorry—”

Mark pushed forward, out of the grasp of the second guard. “Where the _fuck_ is she, Green?”

A wide, _wide_ smile broke out on Agent Green’s slim features. “Well, this is a surprise. Do come in, Byron.” He opened the door wider.

Swallowing, Mark stepped inside, and froze.

Because _she_ was there.

Wadsworth.

The door clicked shut behind Green, and Wadsworth’s features contorted into what could only be estimated to be a grin. “My _my_ , this is a surprise. Byron Bryant. Welcome, as always, to the AM.”

Mark’s pulse raced in his ears as Green stepped around him, placing himself somewhat between Mark and her. “Where the fuck is she, Wadsworth? Where are you keeping Sam?”

Wadsworth laughed. A light laugh, her laugh, but Mark had heard it enough times for it to send chills down his spine. “Oh, Samantha? Why, Bryon, I haven’t seen her!”

His fingernails were in danger of breaking the skin on his palms. “What do you _mean_.”

Wadsworth glanced over to Green. “Owen, would you say you have seen a _Samantha Barnes_ lately?” She said Sam’s name like it was foreign, and Mark’s skin prickled.

“I can’t say I recall a Samantha Barnes coming through these doors, Director.”

Mark’s vision narrowed onto the pair and for a moment, they were all he could see. The two people in the world he hated the most, sitting across from him. His blood pulsed. He reached into his waistband and pulled out the _thing_ he had bought months ago. His skin had warmed the cool metal of its handle.

It felt alien in his hand, that gun.

He raised it nonetheless, pointing it at Wadsworth. A single shot, and she would be done. Gone. Could never harm him or Sam or any atypical ever again. “If you have done something to her you _monster_ I swear to god—”

“I do, however,” Green said hurriedly, eyes wide, tracking the movements of the gun in Mark’s hand, “recall a patient with the ID #54760.”

Always placating, Agent Green. Always afraid to get his hands dirty. Always an office lackey, and nothing more.

“ _What_.” Mark’s voice was flat. The gun wasn’t nearly as steady in his hand as he wanted it to be.

“Byron,” Wadsworth began, her voice as smooth as butter. She had never been afraid to get elbow-deep in blood, had she? “Byron, this is completely unnecessary.”

“How did he get that gun through security?” Green whispered to Wadsworth, lips barely moving, but she ignored him.

“Byron, think about this for a—”

That _name_. It grated on Mark’s teeth, his skull, his collarbone. “My name’s not Byron.”

Wadsworth smiled a thin smile. “Of course, Mark.”

Mark breathed.

In, out.

The gun steadied.

“Mark,” she began a second time, steely as ever. Ignoring Green’s increasingly jittery movements. Staring down that pistol barrel. “Samantha Barnes is in fact currently receiving treatment—”

Mark scoffed. “ _Treatment_?”

Wadsworth blew a sharp breath out through her nose. “Samantha is currently in our facility. We know this. You know this, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

He swallowed. “Let her go, Wadsworth, and I’ll let you two live.”

She shook her head disapprovingly at him, like a teacher trying to get an ornery pupil to understand a lesson. “You also know,” she continued, disregarding Mark’s outburst, “that if something were to…happen to either Agent Green or myself, Samantha could be experiencing a lot of pain very, very quickly. I know you know what that feels like, Mark. You don’t want dear Samantha to experience that, now do you. You want her to have an enjoyable stay here at the AM, don’t you?”

The beeping was so fucking loud.

“Why don’t you put down that gun, Mark? We don’t want anything to happen to Samantha.”

The gun wavered in his hand and it would be so _easy_ to just let his finger slip.

A beat. Two.

Mark set the gun down on Agent Green’s desk. Slid it over.

“Very good,” Wadsworth nodded sharply at Green, who stood quickly and retrieved the gun. Pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Samantha will be grateful, I’m sure.”

“You have to let her go,” he said quietly as Green pulled his hands behind his back. Encircled them with the cool metal of the restraints and Mark wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not.

“Of course, Byron,” Wadsworth said, matching his volume, but her voice had this forever sickly-sweet tone that had haunted his every waking hour. “We have other time travelers in our facility who would be more than happy to try out this new medication. But there is only one _you_ , now isn’t there?”

She reached into her large handbag beside her chair, pulling out a thin capped needle.

Mark’s eyes widened. “Fuck, I’m already here, you don’t need to sedate me.”

He tried to back up, to retreat, but Green’s hands held him fast and Wadsworth uncapped the needle. Jabbed it into his neck.

“No, Byron,” said Wadsworth, and her voice somehow seemed distant, like she was at the top of a well and he was falling ever deeper. “No, Byron, I do not need to sedate you. But I want to.”

The world clicked off.

* * *

_There was a steady beeping with him in the darkness. High pitched. Every three seconds. Just off to his right ear, he thought distantly. Persistent._

_A quiet humming, underneath it all. A humming with a metallic scent. Familiar, somehow, but Mark couldn’t quite place it._

_A steady pain in his arm. Cool restraints on his wrists._

_And—oh, god—Mark couldn’t move._

His eyes snapped open. Fluorescent light flooded into his vision and _oh god fuck shit shit_.

(Lately, when he woke up, his nightmare didn’t continue into his waking hours.)

The same hospital-like bed, with the same sterilized, rough sheets. The same goddamn hospital gown. The same fucking machines surrounding his same bed and the same IV drip of sky-blue serum— _the only sky he could ever see_ —into his right arm (they always missed his vein at least twice) and the same warring atypical powers underneath his skin, just out of reach and the same sinking, paralyzing fear and the same—

The same glass door looking out onto the metal-rimmed hallway.

But the woman on the other side, she was new.

 _Sam_.

She looked so wrong in that hospital gown, Mark thought distantly.

“No, _no_ ,” Sam’s lips pleaded with the guards walking with her—it wasn’t like he could hear anything from his cell.

“Please,” Sam seemed to say, straining away from the guards walking with her. “Not him,” and “Wadsworth, please.”

Oh, wait. That was new.

There only was one guard walking with Sam, wasn’t there?

Wadsworth pressed the intercom button outside his cell and he heard something that wasn’t machines.

“How could you?” Sam cried out, and Mark watched her struggle in the grip of the man holding her shoulders. “You already had me, Wadsworth. How _dare_ you take him too?”

“I am sorry, Samantha,” Wadsworth said, turning to face not Sam, but Mark. To watch his reaction. They locked eyes and _finally_ Mark felt something.

Pure unaltered rage.

The beeping in his cell picked up. His heartbeat was racing.

“We unfortunately have had to cut our time short as a more…valuable asset turned up,” she continued, and _god_ she smiled at that. “We do hope you enjoyed your stay at the AM, Samantha.”

Mark forced his rusting vocal cords to sound. “Sam—”

Sam’s wide eyes found his through the bulletproof glass. “Mark, I’m so sorry! I never should—”

Wadsworth removed her finger from the intercom button, and the rest of Sam’s words were lost to the hum of the machines.

The guard pushed Sam’s shoulders forward. With one last glance behind her, eyes filling with tears—or was that Mark’s?—the woman of his dreams left his sight once more.

The director of the AM stood alone before the door to Mark’s cell. She pressed the intercom button once more. “We really do have a lot to catch up on, Byron,” Wadsworth said, her voice tinny but sending chills down Mark’s spine regardless.

“Fuck you,” he managed, channeling the anger and helplessness that permeated the facility.

Wadsworth’s smile only grew.

* * *

Joan pulled her car frantically into the parking lot of the AM, ignoring the protestations of the two atypicals in her backseat for taking that last turn too hard.

 _There_. Mark’s car.

No sign of her brother.

“Damn,” Joan muttered.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find him, Dr. Bright,” said Chloe reassuringly. “We’ve done it once before, right?”

“Because that went so well,” Caleb muttered.

“Caleb!” Chloe whirled on him.

Joan saw him hold up his hands in her rearview mirror. “Sorry! It’s just…the anxiety levels are about up to here in this car.”

Chloe nodded. “Right, sorry. I’m worried too. And of course we’ll find him! And Sam too. No, don’t say that! They’ll be safe and sound and—”

“Chloe,” said Joan gently, turning her car off as she parked.

She covered her mouth. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? Sorry,” she said, drawing out the word. “It’s like Caleb said, tensions are high.”

Joan nodded. “I understand. I want this over as soon as we can manage, too.”

Three sets of shoes crunched in the gravel as they got out of Joan’s car and made their way up to the front entrance.

 _God_ , was this was Mark saw when he walked in for the first time? For the second time? She felt the icy grip of fear on her heart and her steps faltered.

“It’s going to be okay, Dr. Bright,” Caleb said quietly. “I’m scared too.”

Joan squared her shoulders. “If Sam and Mark are inside, there’s only one way to find out.”

The door burst open ahead of them, and the trio froze.

She looked uncomfortable and tired, but whole. In one piece. Joan felt part of the weight on her lift.

“Oh, my god, Sam!” Chloe burst out, and raced forward to hug her, followed by Caleb and Joan.

“The release papers are all in order,” said Agent Green, stepping out from behind the tangle of limbs that was the three hugging Sam.

Joan pulled herself free first. “Where is my brother, Agent Green?”

Green blinked at her with those wide eyes, the same ones that she had fallen for however many years ago. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Green,” said Joan, and she couldn’t keep the venom out of her voice. “I _know_ Mark is here.”

“He _is_ here,” Chloe said, shock creeping into her voice. “You’re thinking about him. He looks so…sad. God. So frightened. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that. Well, except when he’s thinking about when he was at the AM. Here.” When Green’s eyes widened, Chloe stepped forward. “Yeah. Mind reader.”

“I can assure you, Mark Bryant has never been in this facility,” Green said smoothly, his mask never breaking even though he took an involuntary step backwards.

“You’re lying!” Caleb accused, pushing Sam protectively behind him. “You feel all…wrong. He’s here.”

“I saw him,” Sam said quietly, sounding a shell of her former self.

Joan crossed her arms, trying and failing to contain the clashing swell of pride and fear at their words. “You heard them, Green. You can’t hide him here.”

Agent Green blinked. “Mark Bryant has never existed, Dr. Bright. You know this. There is no record of him on file at this organization. Nor anywhere, in fact.”

“How dare—” Joan sputtered.

He smiled, that cunning smile that Joan wanted to punch off of his face. “As I just said, Mark Bryant is not currently and has never been in the AM. Have a good day, Dr. Bright,” he said dismissively, and turned to Sam. “Samantha, I hope your time at the AM was fruitful. If you ever desire to come back and continue your program, feel free to contact me.”

He held out a business card retrieved somewhere from the depths of his suit jacket.

Sam stared at him. “Fuck you, Green.”

Green pursed his lips. He replaced the card into his pocket. “Very well. I’m sure Dr. Bright has my contact information on file if you change your mind.”

“I assure you, I will never,” Sam spat back vehemently.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Green said after a pause. He nodded sharply. “Good afternoon, then.”

He turned on his heel, and went through the doors of the AM.

Sam surged forwards, but Caleb caught her arms gently as the door clicked shut behind Green.

“Hey,” Chloe said quietly. Sam stilled after a moment of fighting Caleb and gaining nothing. “He’s gone. The door’s locked. There’s no way we’re getting in.”

Sam whirled on the three of them, breaking free of Caleb’s hold, tears already spilling down her cheeks. “What do you expect me to do? They just took Mark _again_ and it was because of _me!_ I can’t just stand here and do nothing!”

Joan’s throat was tight. “Chloe is right, unfortunately,” she said quietly. “We’ll have to find another way in.”

“How can you say that, Joan? Mark is _in there_!” Sam cried, and her form flickered. Just for a moment, and Joan remembered how fragile it all was.

“Mark is strong,” Joan said slowly, hating herself because _if she had been a little faster_ or _a little more understanding_ perhaps this could have been avoided. “He got through this once. He can get through it again.”

Sam flickered again. “He got through it once, but at what cost? And now you’re resigning him to another four years in this hell?”

“Sam—” Joan tried, but she pushed on.

“Do you even care? Do you even know what he went through? What he’s probably going through right—”

“Sam, you’re flickering,” Joan said steadily, ignoring the way she just wanted to retaliate and escalate the situation.

Sam stopped. “I—I am?”

“Take a deep breath, Sam,” Joan replied. “You just went through a lot. It’s perfectly all right to react in this way, but we should get away from the AM as soon as possible. Of course I care about Mark, but we need to get you to safety.”

“I—okay. Okay,” Sam repeated, and her form solidified.

The four of them stepped away from the door, arms wrapped around each other. Joan wasn’t sure if they were supporting each other or weighting each other down, but she knew she couldn’t have walked back towards her car if it wasn’t for them. Every step was like plunging into an icy bath as she turned her back on her brother and headed towards her car. Towards home. Towards Mark’s car, which would lie unused for a few hours until it got towed away.

They never found his car the first time around.

“You can’t blame yourself, Joan,” said Chloe quietly, taking the car keys from Joan’s hand when her hands were shaking too much to unlock the doors. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, Chloe.”

“You always told us that things that happened to us like this weren’t our fault,” Caleb said from behind her. “And that it was important to recognize when things were out of our control.”

Joan’s eyes pricked with tears. “I know, Caleb.”

“We’ll get him back,” Sam said, her voice barely above a whisper, and Joan knew tears were streaming down her face too. Sam rested her head on Joan’s shoulder as the two of them settled into the backseat. “We’ve done it before.”

“I know, Sam.”

Chloe started Joan’s car, and they pulled away from the AM.


End file.
